The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (11 page)

“What in Aroaril’s name are they?” Eamon hissed. “That should have left him in two pieces!”

Cavan said nothing, just prepared to defend himself.

But the two figures did not pursue. They were utterly silent and that, more than anything, seemed eerie to Cavan. No trace of skin showed – even their hands were gloved. The one that had been struck by Eamon used his spare hand to keep his tunic closed. Cavan desperately wanted to see what was under those masks, but he had the horrible feeling that if he did it might be the last thing he ever saw. He braced himself for them to rush to the attack once more. Instead they raced across the room and leaped out of the window onto the roof, running after the third one, just as Niall pushed himself into the room.

“After them!” Cavan cried.

Eamon grabbed his arm but he tore it loose and ran, forcing Niall and Eamon to follow him. Cavan clambered through the open window and onto a shaky piece of roof. Eamon and Niall went cautiously but Cavan raced across the uneven flat slates to the house behind. This one leaned out, almost touching the opposite one in the alleyway across. It was a short space and Cavan did not hesitate, jumping the gap to the next house. He landed a little awkwardly but pressed on, hearing thuds as Niall and Eamon followed him.

Ahead of them, the two dark figures seemed to be making it over the roofs with greater ease, catching up to the one carrying the boy.

“Stop!” Cavan bellowed, but they gave no sign they had heard him.

He ignored the ominous creaking sounds that the roofs were making as he ran across them and put aside the thought that most had been thrown up by their owners with whatever bits of spare wood were close to hand. Instead he focused on the backs of the figures and pushed his legs as fast as they could go. He could hear Eamon just behind him but suspected Niall had fallen far behind.

Alleyways flew by underneath as he jumped them, heedless of the cries from below. The gaps between them were growing larger but his blood was up and, although the figures were getting no closer, he refused to give in. He put in a half-pace to steady himself and then launched himself into space, across a wider alley, stumbling and falling on the other side.

He scrambled to his feet and ran on. The figures leaped and soared across gaps, making it look easy, while he staggered and stumbled across the uneven roofing. Then he saw they had reached one of the main roads and the gap to the next house was not just a pace or two but more like twenty feet.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Eamon was catching up. “We’ve got them!” he roared triumphantly. “Come on!”

Then he looked back to his front and saw the three figures he was chasing had not only cleared the impossible gap but were already running on the other side. For a few paces he refused to believe it, then he decided he must have misjudged the distance. It must be much closer. He put his head down and prepared to launch himself into space after them.

Next moment a hand had grabbed his collar and pulled him so that he flew backwards and crunched into a roof with enough force to drive the wind out of him. He rolled to his side, gasping for breath, to see the figures disappear down behind a taller roof.

“I’m sorry, highness, but there was no way we were going to make that jump. You would have died on the street below,” Eamon puffed, wiping sweat off his face.

Cavan wanted to shout a denial but he had no breath yet – and besides, he could now clearly see the distance between the rooftops. What looked merely difficult when running at speed was clearly impossible. No man could hope to make that jump – especially not while carrying a child.

“What manner of creature were they? How can a sword bounce off them and how can they jump impossible distances?” Eamon asked.

“I don’t know, but I bet my brother does,” Cavan said grimly.

Niall arrived, panting and puffing, to look over the gap.

“Thank Aroaril you stopped when you did. What are we going to say to your father?” he gasped.

Cavan levered himself to his knees. “Worse. What are we going to say to the boy’s mother?”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, highness,” a thickset woman declared, her arm around the sobbing mother’s shoulders. “We all saw how you raced in there and then chased them across the rooftops. But you can’t catch what isn’t human.”

Cavan groaned. They had found marks on a thick beam above the waste hole in the house, suggesting the captors had used some kind of snare and then hauled the boy upwards – but the surrounding crowd was not interested in such sensible explanations.

“It was magic what done it!” one old man insisted.

“It was witches!” another woman agreed.

“We must find them and burn them!” someone called, and the gathered crowd howled agreement.

“Highness, we need to get away now. If we’re not careful, they’ll be dragging more widows in front of you and demanding you condemn them to burning,” Niall said into Cavan’s ear.

Cavan nodded and the three of them climbed back onto their horses.

“You did everything you could, highness. And more than you should have. You could have been killed at least a couple of times up there,” the scribe continued.

Cavan sighed. That was true but he could not shake the feeling he should have done more. “Niall, when we get back, I want you to round up at least a dozen clerks. I need to find out who owns that building. There are few empty homes in this city: space is too precious. An empty building is suspicious. It might be the key to it all.”

It was a slim chance but he wouldn’t give up. There was darkness at Berry’s heart and he would drag it out into the light.

Fallon rode back into Baltimore bubbling with excitement. It was all happening just as he’d imagined it. The Duchess was going to promote him; and he was going to capture whoever was behind this and present them to the King. All these years out here had been worth it, after all. He hurriedly tied up his horse and raced over to where Bridgit was sweeping the front step.

“What is it?” She turned in alarm, a broom in her hands. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing bad!” Fallon sang out cheerfully, striding across and enfolding her in his arms.

She stiffened for just a moment then relaxed into him. “So tell me, before you burst,” she said with a smile.

Kerrin raced out of the house and launched himself at them both, arms reaching around. “Tell me too!” he cried.

Fallon laughed and picked his son up. “Lunster is in a panic. People have been disappearing up and down the coast and the Duchess was shocked and heartbroken by what happened to the Duke,” he said.

“I thought this was good news,” Bridgit said.

“I’m getting to that! She is sending word to the King, asking for men and ships to help protect us. Meanwhile she thinks all smallholders should come into the villages so they are safer and boats should not go out alone, but in large groups.”

“That sounds better. But it’s not what has put a smile on your face,” Bridgit said.

“True,” Fallon pulled a face at Kerrin, making him laugh. He was not about to let him go, because his son was a guarantee Bridgit would not get angry and might actually listen to all of what he had to say. “The Duchess wants me to set a trap for whoever is behind this, hide some of the fyrd in an isolated farm and then strike back if we’re attacked.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Bridgit said lightly, although he could see the warning in her eyes.

“It’ll be nothing of the sort. With Brendan, Gall, Dev and a score of beefy lads, we’ll turn the tables on these mysterious attackers in a moment,” Fallon said lightly. “And we’ll all earn a silver each for the night’s work.”

“Well, I am sure you know best,” Bridgit said, her voice telling him that she thought otherwise.

“Put me down, Dad – I have to show you what I’ve been doing while you were away!” Kerrin laughed.

“Well, I have to see this,” Fallon grinned.

Kerrin produced the wooden knife and cut the air ferociously, spinning, ducking and accompanying himself with make-believe sword noises.

“Very impressive.” Fallon applauded.

“So I can come with you tonight, earn a silver and protect you?” Kerrin asked eagerly.

Fallon opened his mouth slowly, thinking how to refuse him gently.

“Over my dead body!” Bridgit announced fiercely. “Now get inside and wash up, my lad. And that floor had better be clean by the time I get back inside, or there’ll be no riddles tonight!”

“Aw, mam!” Kerrin protested, but Fallon could see how her eyes were flashing, so tapped his son on the shoulder and nudged him towards the door.

They both waited until Kerrin had disappeared inside.

“I have a bad feeling about what is going on,” she said worriedly. “What if they do attack you? I know you spend your days chopping at those posts and shooting holes in scarecrows but they were good enough to take out the Duke and his finest guards. Do you really think you and a few villagers are up to fighting them off?”

Fallon hugged her back. “We’ll go to the Finnegan farm. They won’t know we’re there. They’ll expect a few sleepy children and a tired farmer. We’ll all be awake and we’ll also have magic on our side. This way we can prove it’s not selkies.”

“I don’t care about selkies. I care about your obsession with proving your worth.”

Fallon drew back a little to look at her face.

She gazed back at him steadily. “I know you’re better than just a village sergeant. I don’t like you needing to show off to the nobility, though. Why isn’t Baltimore enough for you? Why am
I
not enough? I know your quality and I wouldn’t be surprised if you already had some offer from Hagen to come and work for him.”

Fallon kissed her gently, as always amazed by how she could see through to the heart of things. “Part of it is wanting to show what I’m made of,” he said. “But only a small part. It is mostly about protecting this village and this county. Everybody else either thinks it is selkies, or imagines it is too hard to stop whoever is behind it. I know I can do this – and then the King will be forced to act.”

“Perhaps. You put too much faith in the nobles. All they care about is how much money we bring them,” Bridgit warned. “And Hagen? What did he offer?”

Fallon took a deep breath. “To be his lieutenant. And for you and Kerrin to work in the manor house, live there, rather than in the town below …”

She pulled away from him. “The stench of death hangs over Lunster. How many winters do you think Kerrin will last there?”

“He’s reached ten summers and he’s getting stronger by the day,” Fallon argued. “We could see for a moon or two. Head there during the warmer weather. If he gets sick, we leave.”

“And what if he doesn’t get better?”

Fallon shook his head. “You can’t think of the worst things all the time. He might thrive there.”

“I can’t help but think of the worst things that could happen. The nightmares are always there in my head. Every time I close my eyes I see the faces of all our babies that died. How can I not think of the worst things?”

He held her close as she began to cry softly.

“I want you to be happy again. I don’t want you to wake at night for fear of something bad happening. Maybe we can’t get you well here. Maybe we
need
to go to Lunster.”

“I don’t want these black thoughts in my head. I can’t stop them.”

“Then let’s get away.”

“I wish it were that easy,” she said bitterly.

“You don’t know until you try,” he said gently.

“I am afraid I will just worry more. All that disease just waiting for Kerrin in Lunster. And then you want to go hunting for these men who pretend to be selkies. How will Kerrin and I cope without you? Who will stop the nightmares then?”

“You are stronger than you know,” he said, as he so often did.

“But I don’t want to find out!” She punched him in the chest as he held her close. “It’s so easy for you. All you have to do is go off and fight. I’m the one left at home to worry.”

“Would you rather do it the other way around? I’ll cook dinner and look after Kerrin tonight and you go hunting for selkies.”

He smiled broadly as she smiled back through the tears.

“There you go again – trying to make me happy,” she accused.

“It’s a tough job. Luckily it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

She sighed and hugged him back. “I’ll think about Lunster in the spring. But not winter, when everything rots there. And only if you come back tomorrow.”

“That’s a promise.” He kissed her gently. It all seemed to clear. Capture one of these raiders, impress the Duchess and King and finally be recognized for who he was.

It was a motley crew that formed up for the brisk walk to the Finnegan farm. Farmers had brought axes, fishermen had brought gutting knives and long gaff hooks. Brendan was the most distinctive after he had spent the afternoon hammering two iron sheets into a crude breastplate and back plate, and converted a pot into a strange metal helmet.

“You look like a metal scarecrow,” Devlin told him. “But it should work. They’ll take one look at you and fall about laughing so hard they won’t be able to fight.”

Brendan swelled angrily but the farmer held up his hands. “Sorry, my friend, it is brilliant work.”

“Thank you, Dev. Good to see you do recognize craftsmanship,” the smith said loftily.

“It is very clever. We can cook dinner on your head at the same time,” Devlin continued.

“Enough!” Fallon snapped at them. “Is everybody ready?”

They counted heads and everyone was there, including a grim-faced Sister Rosaleen. Everyone except one.

“Where’s the bloody wizard?” Fallon sighed.

“Here am I, sergeant sir! Just getting some essential supplies for the night ahead,” Padraig announced, hurrying towards them with the pockets of his robe bulging and clinking suspiciously.

He skidded to a halt then shrieked in alarm at the sight of Brendan. “Aroaril preserve us! Have you caught one of them already?” he cried.

“So help me, wizard, if you say another word I’m going to punch you into the middle of next moon,” Brendan threatened, holding up a massive fist.

“Empty your pockets, Padraig. There’s to be no drinking out there,” Fallon said briskly, knowing Brendan’s threat was an empty one but not wanting to force the big smith to back down.

“Shame on you, sergeant. I merely have some bird oil I can use to light up the scene when our secretive friends arrive,” Padraig said, pulling a dark-colored flask out of his pocket.

Fallon checked the contents and jerked his head away at the smell. It was bird oil all right. The seabirds arrived on the cliffs in their thousands during the spring and it was a simple matter to net scores of them. The flesh was foul and rank but thanks to their fishy diet it was also extremely oily. The villagers had learned to render down this oil, which burned bright in lamps during the winter months. Bridgit hated the smell of it so they never used it, but fishermen like Gallagher swore by it out on the water.

“My apologies, wizard. Let’s be away.” Fallon waved them forwards.

Behind his back, Padraig fished out another flask, this one of tin, and took a swig from it, offering Gallagher both a wink and the flask afterwards.

Gallagher accepted it, then emptied it out over the ground. “We need you with your wits about you, wizard,” he said.

“You people are no fun at all,” Padraig grumbled.

Fallon led them on a swift march that had Padraig reeling and puffing by the time they reached the Finnegan farm, a pair of beast sheds and the main house. Fallon had the men rip down a small animal enclosure and pile the wood around the house, where it was doused in Padraig’s flasks of bird oil.

“Right. I want six men in that shed, six in that one and the rest of you with me in the main house. See anything, shout out and we all come running. Padraig will light the bird-oil bonfires and we’ll see what we’re facing. The more noise we make, the more scared they will be.”

“Or is it that the more scared we are, the more noise we’ll make?” Devlin asked.

“Another remark like that and I’ll stick you out the front as bait for them,” Fallon told him amid the chuckles.

“We should all kneel and pray, and I shall ask for Aroaril’s guidance and protection,” Sister Rosaleen suggested.

“A good idea,” Fallon agreed, seeing the nervous looks on some of the faces.

“I’ll open up the roof so we can look out properly,” Gallagher said sourly, stalking off.

Fallon saw Rosaleen’s face fall and cleared his throat. “Right, the rest of you. Down on your knees for the Sister to bless.”

“He doesn’t even want to receive a blessing?” Rosaleen whispered.

“Like we said. He feels he got everything he wants from Aroaril when he lost his wife and boys,” Fallon sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Sister. We have bigger problems tonight.”

But, as the moon rose high above them, it seemed there was little to worry about.

“When are these bloody raiders going to get here? I’m bored out of my brain!” Devlin complained.

Fallon looked out of a window idly for the tenth time. “We can’t rush these things. They may not come tonight at all.” He shrugged. “You should look on it as a silver piece earned the easy way.”

They had let the fire burn down to embers, as it would normally, and they were sitting around in near-darkness, talking idly.

“Should I go and check the other men, see how they’re doing?” Devlin offered.

“No, I’ll do it. Finnegan is about my height. If they have been watching this place and suddenly see he’s shrunk, they’re going to smell a rat.” Fallon stretched and stood.

“If Padraig was out there, they’d smell more than just a rat,” Devlin muttered, casting an eye to where the wizard snored in a chair, his feet up on the table.

Fallon clapped him on the shoulder and opened the door carefully. Although his instincts told him to duck and sneak around, he forced himself to walk slowly and casually, just like a farmer making one last check on his stock before bedtime.

Next moment he jumped back in alarm, when the piles of wood around the house exploded into flame, spoiling his night vision but throwing the farmhouse into bright light. The men in the beast sheds came roaring out, as they had been told to, while from inside the house the others poured out as well, shouting their defiance, although to Fallon’s ears it sounded more fearful than threatening.

Next moment he heard the sound of hooves and Fallon brought up his crossbow.

Time to find out how good you really are
, he told himself as the hoofbeats drummed closer.

“Come on, you bastards, you won’t take us!” he bellowed into the night.